


pieces into place

by feloosha (gwencelot)



Series: Wishbone Week 2020 [4]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:28:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23337649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwencelot/pseuds/feloosha
Summary: In a world where everyone has a soulmate, the odds of finding them aren't always great.
Relationships: Marrow Amin/Clover Ebi
Series: Wishbone Week 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1672663
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	pieces into place

**Author's Note:**

> Man idk what this is. I wrote this last minute for Wishbone Week. Prompt: odds.
> 
> [See what's in the works at my tumblr!](https://feloosha.tumblr.com/wip)

Clover is five years old when he first learns about soulmates.

When he mentions the word at dinner, his parents exchange strange looks. Before Clover knows it, he’s being pulled gently into his mother’s lap and having a comforting hand run through his hair.

“Where did you hear that word, sweetie?” She asks gently. Clover isn’t old enough to grasp the significance of this moment, but the troubled look on his mother’s face says plenty. 

“Hazel. He said his sister found her soulmate,” Clover wrinkles his nose. “What does it mean?”

“Well,” his mother says. She pauses, like she doesn’t really know where to begin, before continuing. “When the Gods created us, they made us two at a time, so we would always have someone just like they did. They each contributed to our souls, not making them exactly the same, but closely binding them.” Clover nods to show her that he’s listening, even though he’s pretty confused. “So somewhere, out in the world, there’s someone else with the same… essence, the same stuff inside as you and me.”

“Like your guts?”

She laughs. “No, Clover, not like your guts. More like… this person will understand everything about you. When you meet this person, it will feel right. You’ll be reunited with your other half.” His mother looks away as she finishes her sentence, staring somewhere past Clover’s shoulder with a faraway look in her eyes.

Clover watches her for a moment before shimmying out of her arms, plopping himself back on the floor with a quiet _thud._ “Sounds weird,” he announces, taking a step back towards the kitchen for dessert.

When he wakes up in the morning, he’s already forgotten all about it.

* * *

Clover is ten years old when his father leaves.

He knows something is wrong when he’s been gone for two days, and his mother can barely look out the window without tearing up.

“Mom?” He asks hesitantly, pushing in her bedroom door just a crack. When he pokes his head in, he can see her lying on the bed facing him, wetness on her cheeks.

“Come here, Clover,” she sits up and wipes fruitlessly at her face, fresh tears falling as Clover clambers up on the bed to sit next to her. He reaches out to hold one of her hands, helpless. “Your father isn’t coming back, sweetie.”

“Is he okay?” Clover asks right away, fear creeping into his chest.

“Yes,” she hiccups. “He… he found his soulmate. And went to be with her.”

Clover is silent for a long time, turning her words over in his brain. He can’t comprehend what she’s saying; there has to be a mistake. “But _you’re_ soulmates.”

His mother laughs, but it’s a sad, broken thing. Clover never wants to hear it again.

“We are not soulmates,” she says. “But I thought it was enough.”

He keeps her company that night, falling asleep on the far side of the bed with her hand held in his own. In the morning, they go through the house, gathering things—pictures, his father’s pipe, the clothes he’s left behind—and they pack it all away where they won’t have to see it every day.

“You’re a treasure, Clover,” his mother whispers to him that night, laying a light kiss to his forehead as she tucks him into bed. “And I pray the Gods will grant you more luck and love than they ever have to me.”

* * *

Clover is fifteen years old when he comes out. 

His mother cries, but not for the reason he initially thinks; she assures him of this repeatedly, wiping frantically at her own tears as she draws him into a hug.

“The world won’t be kind to you,” she whispers into his hair, cradling his head to her own, just like she had when he was younger. He knows exactly what she’s talking about; knows she’s thinking of his future, his soulmate, and how bigoted the world still is. “All I want is for you to be happy.”

“I am.” When Clover pulls back, he tries to put on a brave face for her like he has for the past five years, but he can’t help but feel like the odds are stacked against him. 

* * *

Clover is twenty-one years old when he experiences his first heartbreak.

It’s not his first boyfriend, but it’s the first one that’s broken up with him for something other than being in the closet. His most recent boyfriend had met his soulmate in his first lecture class of the year, and informs Clover apologetically, half-mumbling that they could still try to make it work, if he wants—

“No,” Clover says, focusing hard on not letting his face crumble. “No, you should be with your soulmate.”

It’s not the last time this happens to him, but somehow it’s never _Clover_ who has to regretfully inform his partner that, sorry, he’s found his soulmate, and it’s just not going to work out anymore. No; Clover floats from relationship to relationship, non-soulmate to non-soulmate, and tries to convince himself it doesn’t even hurt anymore.

* * *

Clover is twenty-five years old when he meets Marrow, and his whole world is turned upside down.

They stare at each other in shock over the cash register of a Starbucks of all places, a feeling Clover can’t identify fluttering through his chest. He feels like he’s going to throw up, or maybe it’s just his heart in his throat.

“Do you feel that?” He manages to choke out, heedless of the fact that he’s holding up the line behind him. He lets his eyes flicker from bright blue eyes to the name badge below and back, hand still out and skin on fire where they’d touched in the exchange of his credit card. _“Marrow.”_

“Uh,” Marrow unfreezes first, glancing down to where he’d dropped the card. He swipes it quickly, nearly throwing it back at Clover over the counter. “Your drink will be ready shortly.”

Clover furrows his brows, fear churning in his stomach. Surely, _surely_ Marrow had felt it; there’s no way Clover could ever imagine the spark of electricity that had shot up his spine when they touched, or the way he felt like he was taking his very first breath when their eyes first met.

“Marrow—”

“I have to go,” Marrow turns quickly on his heel, ignoring the protests of the rest of the customers in line, nearly running into the back where Clover can’t follow. Another employee hurries over to take care of the register, staring at Clover pointedly until he moves out of the way.

Clover collects his drink from the employee on bar, and lingers for over an hour before finally admitting defeat and going back home.

* * *

He doesn’t sleep that night, tossing and turning, memories of his father and his mother and all his failed relationships playing themselves over and over in his head. Finally, Clover turns on his phone, desperately searching for and reading hundreds of stories from people who have found their soulmates; how they felt, if they’re together now, if they’ve lost them. 

The last thing he looks up is Starbucks’ hours, because he knows there’s no way he can let Marrow go.

* * *

“Are you stalking me or something,” Marrow asks flatly the next day when Clover steps up to the register. He looks less shocked today, only mildly wary, and Clover counts it as a win.

“No,” Clover says quickly. And, to appease him, “Grande mocha soy latte, please?” Marrow purses his lips, staring at Clover for a moment before he drops his gaze to type in the order. “I’m Clover,” he says quickly without prompting.

Marrow watches him as the sticker for the order prints, an unreadable look on his face. Just feeling those eyes on him again makes Clover’s heart start beating faster, something deeper inside him slowly simmering to the surface. It just feels _right._

“Yes, I feel it,” Marrow says finally, carefully smoothing out the sticker onto a cup. He hands it over to the barista on bar before looking at Clover again, one of the corners of his mouth twitching. It’s not quite a smile, but it makes Clover’s heart soar.

* * *

Clover is twenty-seven years old when he marries his soulmate.

It’s a small ceremony, and it’s entirely for show, because everyone knows the bond goes deeper, binds their very beings. But Marrow looks beautiful in a suit, and Clover’s mother is happier than she’s been in years, and when Clover says, “I do,” he feels like the weight of the last seventeen years has been lifted off his shoulders. 

His mother pulls him aside at the reception, joyful tears in her eyes. Clover almost feels _guilty,_ looking at the woman who has never had this, might _never_ have this; the woman who poured all the love and compassion she had into ensuring his happiness while ignoring her own. It’s just not _fair;_ she deserves a happy ending, too. He imagines she must feel a little like he used to, seeing someone she cares about finding their soulmate, and being left behind all alone.

And like she’s reading his mind, his mother shakes her head with a smile, cupping his face in her hands. “I’m so happy for you,” she whispers, leaning up until she can rest their foreheads together. 

“I guess I got pretty lucky,” he says, fighting to keep his voice steady. 

His mother releases him with a sigh, but he doesn’t detect any sadness in her eyes when she says, “I told you you’re a treasure, Clover,” and bids him goodbye. 

Clover doesn’t need the skip in his heartbeat or the pulse from deep in his soul to let him know that Marrow is close by, but it makes him look around all the same. Marrow is already looking back, a smile on his face; when their eyes meet it’s just like the first time, and Clover prays to the Gods that feeling will never go away.

**Author's Note:**

> btw there's reasons in my head for Marrow reacting the way he did when they first met, but I didn't have time to get into that tiny subplot.


End file.
